


Nun Means Nothin' (When I'm With You)

by cowboykylux



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Divorce, Surprises, jewish!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: Charlie and Henry try their best to surprise you with a Hanukkah celebration that'll blow you away. They're a little confused, but they've got the spirit.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Nun Means Nothin' (When I'm With You)

“What else does it say?” Charlie asks, pushing the cart up and down the aisles of the grocery store.

He’s got one hand on the cart, and one hand in Henry’s, leading him up and down the store in pursuit of just about any and everything he can think of. Henry’s eyes are glued to Charlie’s cell phone, scrolling through the first article that popped up when Charlie had searched for _how to celebrate Hanukkah._

The cart was practically full with ingredients for dinner; noodles for kugel, brisket and all the fixins for it, apples and sweet potatoes for casseroles. He was thankful that he lived in the city and there was a deli or bakery within walking distance. The car was already loaded with fresh challah bread and all sorts of desserts. They were trying to rush so the powdered sugar on the jelly donuts wouldn’t melt.

“It says, uhh,” Henry tries reading the small text as Charlie whisks him up and down the aisles.

“Go on, you can do it.” He encourages.

You’ve been helping him with his reading, and Charlie didn’t know what the hell it was that you did, but you got him to enjoy it. He was excited to break out the practice books these days, to get the words right, and now he didn’t even have to sound out most of it anymore. It took him a minute, but he was getting quicker and quicker about it, and Charlie had never been more proud – or more thankful for you.

“Sour cream!” Henry said, probably too loudly, but proud of himself for getting it right, “We need sour cream, for the potato pancakes.”

“They’re latkes.” Charlie says, immediately making a u-turn and heading down towards the applesauce.

“Latkes?” Henry asks, running to keep up, laughing to himself as he tries not to trip over his own shoes.

“Yeah that’s what they’re called.” Charlie says, and while he’s looking looking looking for them, Henry repeats the word over and over to himself, so much so that Charlie does it too, “Sour cream, okay we can find sour cream."

When they do find it, they’re met with a whole row of options. Did brand matter? Did flavor matter? Obviously not fat-free, because that’s disgusting, but…?

“Do you think there’s a special kind?” Charlie asks, wondering if the article that Henry is squinting at holds any options.

“Can’t we just ask (Y/N)?” Henry asks back, and Charlie immediately shakes his head.

“No, it’s a surprise.” He explains, even though Henry doesn’t really like that answer.

“Wait it says that some people like applesauce too.” Charlie sticks his big nose close to the phone and panics, because he doesn’t know which one you prefer, and he just _knows_ that whichever one he does get is going to be the wrong one, so, “Shit. Let’s get both.”

They spend the entire day setting up. Charlie gets to work cooking up a storm, makes Henry put on the music channel on the smart-TV in the living room. He wishes there were more Hanukkah movies, the only one he can think of is a rugrats special that he can’t find on demand anywhere.

You were, in addition to so many other wonderful things, organized in the sense that all your Hanukkah decorations were stored in the same bin in the basement. You had brought them when you moved in only a couple months ago, and Charlie was so glad that he didn’t have to hunt for things to put out. He found the menorah and the candles, your stash of dreidels and strands of lights.

He and Henry had put them all out, everything ready to go for when you were to step over the threshold. He even had Henry set the table – something that his son was eager to do for once in his life.

It was while Henry was setting the table, in fact, that you did come home, the two of them looking at one another in a mix of panic and excitement.

“I’m home!” You call from the front door, putting your keys in the dish and slipping out of your shoes, tucking them in the shoe closet neatly.

“(Y/N)!” Henry bolted into your arms, jumped straight onto you, and you laughed happily as you caught him.

“Hey honey,” You beamed, setting him down when he started squirming, “What’s all this?”

Henry had taken it upon himself to tape Hebrew letters to his sweater, one on the front, back, and on each of his sleeves. He stood ramrod straight with his shoulders square and proudly proclaimed,

“I’m a dreidel! Go on, give me a spin.”

Charlie hung in the doorway, watching the two of you laugh and play, as you pretended to twist above his head. Henry spun around and around and fell playfully to the floor on his back, making you exclaim in mock-sorrow.

“Ack, nun!” You snap your fingers and hold out a hand to help him up, “Damn, maybe next time.”

“Why damn?” Henry asks, still giggling from being dizzy.

“Nun means you get nothing.” You explain, pointing to the letter on his sweater.

Charlie can’t wait on the sidelines anymore, not when he aches for you so badly, so he steps into the room, hands already reaching to cup your face as he brings you in for a kiss that has Henry complaining, _dad gross!_

“Hi sweetheart.” Charlie just smiles against your lips, before standing behind you and covering your face with those big hands of his, saying, “Eyes closed, come on.”

“Charlie what _is_ all of this?” You ask, laughter still in your voice as you tentatively start walking forward.

“Come on.” Henry says, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you forward, while Charlie keeps his hands over your eyes.

When you are all in the dining room, Charlie releases your face and your hand flies up to your mouth in a soft gasp.

The menorah has all the candles waiting to be lit, waiting for you to lead them in the traditions of lighting it. There’s a piping hot dinner waiting on the table in the ceramic dishes your family had passed down to you, and blue and silver lights decorate the window that faces the street. There’s gold coins and confetti scattered on the table, and you turn in Charlie’s embrace to kiss him.

“Sweetheart this is all so beautiful, thank you.” You say, biting your lip like you might cry, and Charlie feels so fucking good that he got it all right – until you’re chewing your lip in that way you do when you’re about to give bad news, and his stomach plummets when you say, “But Hanukkah’s not for two more weeks.”

“Wait, what?” He asks, has to hear again, and Henry’s frowning, running out of the room to go look at the calendar.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry it’s all gorgeous but it’s the twenty-second this year.” You wince, feeling awful to have to tell him.

“But last year it was – ” Charlie scratches the back of his head, _surely_ he had googled it right?

“I’m sorry,” You grab both his hands and kiss the palms there, willing him not to be upset, and also trying desperately not to laugh good-naturedly at the honest mistake, “It changes every year, we go by a different calendar.”

“Well fuck.” And then he’s laughing too, because damn, how would he have known?

“Can we still have the gelt?” Henry asks, looking between the two of you, and who are you to deny him?

“Yes, we can still have the gelt.” You say, sitting down at the table, before tickling his stomach and telling him, “But you’re going to have to win it!”

And even though he screwed up the dates, he can’t help but feel proud for how well he did on everything else, the way that your face lights up when he serves the dinner, the crispy latkes hot and fresh (he makes note of which condiment you put on it), the way you kiss him with sugar and jam on your lips, the way you laugh and curse when you win and lose at the dreidel game. And all it means is that when the holiday comes for real, he’ll know just what to do.

And well, maybe next time he’ll ask you too.


End file.
